Mondo Blog

This blog details the life of Mondo Dweeb, The Most Disgusting Inmate in the Universe

Sunday, March 05, 2006

Mondo Goes to the Library

The most disgusting inmate in the Universe gets some Culture

It was Dorm inspection day, and Mondo found himself evicted from the dorm for the duration of the inspection. Since Mondo abhorred the great outdoors, due mainly to the affinity seagulls seemed to have for him because he smelled like ripe garbage, Mondo didn’t want to go to the yard. He had visited the gym, and found the experience singularly unacceptable, and he was banned from the game room in the Activities building. So poor Mondo had no choice but to go the Library. Dreading the walk to the Library, Mondo somehow had enough foresight to put on his chino jacket and a hat in an effort to protect himself from the seagulls and their byproducts.

Mondo made it to the end of the walkway leading out from the dorm, and was about to turn left towards the library when the first seagull noticed him and sent out a loud squawk alerting the rest of the flock to his presence. As the entire flock converged upon him, Mondo started to let loose with a stream of insults.

“Your Grandmother has webbed feet!” he screamed at the first gull that befouled his hat. Another bird was nearly frightened out of mid-air when Mondo bellowed, “Your Mother dates Barn Swallows!” two inches from its face. Mondo steadily increased his lumbering pace in a desperate attempt to escape the flying rats. He arrived at the Activities building relatively intact, albeit nearly covered with a vile, slimy covering.

The guard working the sign-in desk at the Activities building became frightened as Mondo approached. Beads of sweat broke out on the guard’s fivehead (he was going bald, and his hairline had begun to race towards the back of his neck), and by the time that Mondo had reached the desk, the guard was visibly agitated. Lunging for the pencil, Mondo hastily scribbled his name and as much of his prisoner number as he could remember, and headed for the Library.

Mondo entered, the Library emptied. “My, what respect,” thought Mondo as he watched dozens of people fling books, magazines and newspapers tin the general vicinity of the circulation counter and flee in stark terror, “I really appreciate the way people give me room to move around. But today? Well this just tops the cake! All these people returning their reading materials so that I can have a larger selection to choose from.” Mondo smugly concluded. The Library clerks all were suddenly very busy, deep in the stacks, except for one. This poor miscreant, who had just started working in the library, was frozen stiff with fright. As Mondo made his way to the circulation desk, he rubbed up against the wall in a futile attempt to clean the congealing guano off his jacket. This only smeared the droppings further into the jacket, and also permanently disfigured the wall. The Librarian just sighed and took out a stack of Work Orders. He knew that this would be a long afternoon. The rookie library clerk nearly fainted when Mondo leaned over the counter and asked him for some books.

“Make sure they got lots of pictures of animals in them,” Mondo grunted. The clerk became so terrified when Mondo’s legendary breath hit him that he wet his pants, but the intrepid clerk managed to stumble off toward the stacks to fulfill his task. Mondo stood waiting for a long period while the clerk was away, and started to reminisce. His idyllic thoughts turned to his childhood, the many hours he spent out in the woods behind his grandparent’s house, the wonderful memorable moments he spent interacting with the wildlife he found, and the deep embarrassment he experienced the first time he was caught with his grubby, sausage-like fingers tightly wrapped around the throat of one of his newfound “friends.” Mondo’s pleasant reverie was broken by the appearance of the clerk, who staggered under the weight of the stack of nature books he brought to Mondo.

Mondo greedily snatched the stack of books and lumbered off to the nearest table. Positioning two chairs side by side so as to give himself enough room to have a stable platform, as well as one chair for each cheek. He almost literally dove towards the book titled “Newborn Mammals of the North American Continent, an Illustrated Guide.” As Mondo rapidly paged through the tome, he noticed that his drooling was increasing exponentially, so he removed a bed sheet from his pocket and spread it down over his immense belly and over his lap. By this time, the Library was filling with flies, so the Librarian emitted another sigh, this one even more plaintive than the previous one, and handed two fly strips to the rookie clerk and instructed him to hang them directly over Mondo’s position.

Mondo watched the clerk with a combination of reverence and gratitude. Previously, he had believed that fly strips were a gift from the heavens, and he now realized that they were strategically placed by the staff and inmates of the facility. An observant person would have noticed that there were tears in Mondo’s eyes as he watched the clerk affix the fly strips to the ceiling. “I am constantly overwhelmed by the actions of my fellow inmates,” thought Mondo, “they seem to care so much for me, even going so far as to provide magic snack strips for me wherever I go.” Mondo raised his right hand to his right eye to wipe away a tear, and realized that he was, for once, reaching with his correct hand. He became so excited that he raised his left hand to his right nostril…

After Mondo had irretrievably soiled the underside of the table he was sitting at, he resumed his perusal of the stack of books before him. The Library staff skulked around quietly behind the circulation counter, trying to ignore the slurping and wheezing sounds emanating from Mondo. From the perspective of the workers, time seemed to drag, but Mondo was oblivious to the time. He was shocked when the P.A. announced that the Activities Building was closed. Mondo’s shifty, swine like eyes darted around. Seeing no one, he stood on a chair, deftly snatched the fly strips from the ceiling, and quickly rolled them up in his bed sheet. Smiling smugly, he gathered up all the books, except for one, which he shoved into his voluminous trousers. Fully satisfied with his haul, he dropped off the books, along with a newspaper he found on a table at the circulation desk. Turning to leave, Mondo felt a familiar internal pressure, and with a mighty blast transformed the circulation counter into a jumble of splinters and sawdust.

For the third time the Librarian sighed, although a bystander might have claimed that a whimper accompanied the sigh, and he dourly instructed two of the clerks to wring the saliva and sweat out of the newspaper and books. After an almost infinite quantity of coaxing, and the issuance of multiple pairs of rubber gloves to each clerk, the moist books were returned to the shelves. The newspaper was not so fortunate however, and had to be disposed of in a tightly sealed three layer plastic bag. Vowing to never allow Mondo into his Library again, the Librarian opened the first of what were to be many cans of industrial strength deodorizer, and called for a 55-gallon drum of disinfectant to be delivered to the Library immediately.

Turning from the phone, the Librarian was met with a throng of unruly clerks. Amidst the incoherent shouts and screams, he could make out a few intelligible phrases, and those phrases made his blood run cold. Glancing up, he saw Mondo approaching the ruins of the circulation desk with a Library survey form in his hand. “Hey, can I get a pencil?” grunted Mondo. Making a bold move, the Librarian delegated the job to one of his clerks and watched in amazement as the clerk waded through the pile of wood and handed the pencil to Mondo. Once that job was done, the clerk never looked back. He simply walked right out of the Library and was last heard begging a Sergeant to place him in protective custody.

Mondo scribbled for what seemed to be an eternity on the survey form, and proudly offered it to the Librarian wile loudly proclaiming, “I didn’t sign it because I want it to be anonymous, O.K.?”

“Sure, Mr. Dweeb,” said the Librarian, “thanks for the feedback.” Mondo turned for the door once again, and on his way out thought very highly of the Library and his pleasant experience.

The sound of shredding wood, clamoring voices and a deep, earth-shaking rumble alerted the guard at the Activities building entrance that Mondo was about to leave. Fearing for his life, the guard moved away from the desk, watched Mondo sign out, and move off toward the exit. From the corner of his eye, he saw a very haggard looking Librarian stagger out of the Library and collapse into a chair. The guard rushed over, and just as the Librarian’s eyes rolled back into his skull, the guard grabbed a rumpled piece of paper out of his hands. Glancing at it, he saw that it was a Library survey form. The only portion filled in was the comments section, and the comment simply read, “Strong smell of urine near circulation desk.”

Mondo was barely out the door when the seagulls began to swarm around him once again. “Your sister flies with Crows!” screamed Mondo as he hastily arranged his cap for better protection. Braving the storm of sky rats, Mondo plodded towards his dorm. As a large glob spattered his face, Mondo was heard to shout, “Your Mother has a hooked beak!”

Saturday, September 10, 2005

The (Mis)Adventures of Craig in the Middle East

** Bonus Story - This story was written during the First Gulf War for a friend who was serving in Kuwait at the time. **

The sun beat down mercilessly from cloudless skies. Near the horizon, a slowly moving plume if diesel exhaust marked the position of a patrol from the 82nd Airborne Division returning to base. The shimmering heat from the desert sand seemed to give the plume a life of its own, but from Craig's vantage point in the sweltering kitchen, he could see that it was moving ever closer, and it would bring a platoon of extremely short-tempered, hungry men with it when it arrived,

"Boy, I hate K.P.," muttered Craig as he returned to the mountain of potatoes. Sighing heavily, Craig began to peel furiously.

Later that evening, after Craig had completed his double shift of K.P. and sat idly around with his fellow soldiers swapping tall tales about drinking escapades and even taller tales about bedroom conquests, he gratefully remembered that he only had one more 16-hour shift of K.P. remaining. Craig sincerely regretted dropping the artillery shell on the General's foot, and thought that 30 days of double K.P. duty was an excessively harsh punishment. Nevertheless, he was thankful that he had not been busted down to Buck Private, like he was after the incident in Panama. Craig still cringed when he thought of Panama - the heat, the humidity, the insects, and the embarrassment, the humiliation.

"Private Smith!" demanded the sergeant.

Shocked out of his reverie, Craig leapt to his feet and snapped to attention, knocking a full glass of iced tea down the front of the sergeant's crisply pressed trousers, the lemon wedging in the fly of his trousers like some obscene parody from a bad movie.

"Report to Major Jackson at once, you have volunteered for a mission," snapped the sergeant.

"Yes, sir!" Craig stammered, suddenly becoming very pale.

Turning smartly, the sergeant marched out of the room, removing the lemon from his zipper and hurtling it to the ground with a curse as soon as he was out of sight. Settling his face in a grim smirk, he was perversely satisfied that he had volunteered Craig for the mission. A mission, which stood little chance of returning survivors to the base.

Craig sat in the briefing room with seven other soldiers, each and every one "volunteered" by their commanding officer. As they listened to the objective of their mission, a sense of overwhelming futility overcame the volunteers. They were to infiltrate Iraqi headquarters, capture Saddam Hussein, and return him to the U.S. to stand trial.

Even with the best of support, the mission stood little chance of success. But aside from the eight privates, each one considered expendable by his commanding officer, the only additional resources allotted to the mission were two top-ultra-super-secret Stealth Jeeps and an assortment of experimental grenades and particle beam weapons which came out of the S.D.I. program.

Under cover of darkness, the "volunteer" commando team, code named "Gumdrop," secure in the command of P.S.C. Craig Smith, crept into the outskirts of Baghdad. Craig, dubbed "Licorice" for the duration of the mission, had split his team into two flavor groups. His squad consisted of Wintergreen, Peppermint, and Spearmint in addition to himself. They named their Stealth Jeep the Mint Mobile. The second group, known as the Fruit Assortment, was made up of Cherry, Orange, Grape, and Banana. They rode in the Jelly Jeep directly behind the Mint Mobile into the drooling jaws of the Demented Camel known as Iraq. Since the Stealth Jeeps were invisible to traffic radar, a technology singularly absent in Iraq, the primary advantage the Jeeps gave to the Gumdrop Gang was camouflage.

The Stealth Jeeps had the ability to change their appearance to blend in with their surroundings. They had undergone a transformation upon reaching Baghdad, from a camel shape into what could be charitably described as decrepit taxicabs. In the Mint Mobile, Craig, or "Lick," as he preferred to be called, consulted his map. Using a highly reliable communication technology, Lick stuck his head out of the window and screamed at the top of his lungs. "Hey Fruits! 3 miles to the turnoff. We split up there. Rendezvous at Camel Face's HQ 16 minutes after turnoff. Over!"

The driver of the Jelly Jeep acknowledged the message by surreptitiously flashing his headlights 15 or 20 times while tapping out "Shave and a Haircut" on his horn.

Fourteen minutes after the Mint Mobile reached the turnoff; it was safely parked disguised as a sand dune outside the Hi-Tech Headquarters of Saddam Hussein. The HQ tent was made of bulletproof Kevlar, had a triple wall construction, and to insiders was known as "The Belly of the Beast." Lick counted off the seconds and precisely 16 minutes alter the Gumdrop Gang hit the turnoff, he saw a sand dune slip into place opposite the Mint Mobile. Sizing up the situation, Lick briefly pondered his options. He had two plans ready to implement, one code named "Chuckles" and the other named "Jujube," noting that he had two escape routes from the HQ tent Lick chose Chuckles. He informed the Fruit Assortment of his choice via the Jeep-to-Jeep communication system and began to issue specific deployment commands.

"Wintergreen and Spearmint will breach the entranceway, using phosphorus and concussion grenades, Cherry and Orange will storm in using particle weapons, take, and hold the main corridor. Peppermint, Grape, and I will penetrate and capture Hussein, Banana will take the rear. Move out in 15 minutes!"

The two teams began strapping on their gear in the limited confines of the Stealth Jeeps. Each man wore two grenade belts, one containing phosphorus, and concussion grenades, the other equipped with experimental grenades, which gave off a dazzling light, and produced an electromagnetic proximity field, which disrupted the functions of an unshielded human brain, causing unconsciousness. To protect the Gumdrop Gang from the experimental grenades, each member wore a fine mesh hood under his helmet. Attached to their helmets were special light sensitive, quick-darkening goggles. In holsters each commando wore a .45 caliber automatic and a particle beam weapon, unbelievably powerful, but equally unreliable.

The two teams exited the relative protection of the Stealth Jeeps, assembled in formation, and attacked. Wintergreen and Spearmint burst through the unguarded outer flaps of the HQ tent, and tossed a pair of grenades at the surprised guards stationed at the inner flaps. As soon as the grenades detonated, Cherry and Orange sprinted untouched through both flaps. The CIA agents had provided flawless information, the layout of the HQ tent was just as Cherry, and Orange expected. Each held his particle beam weapon ready, and as Iraqi troops responded to the commotion, they mowed them down. Orange's beam weapon began to malfunction, and Lick, Peppermint, and Grape, who had been waiting at the entrance, made their move when they heard the first shot from Orange's 45.

The three kamikaze commandos ran screaming past Cherry and Orange, heading straight for Hussein's lair. They tossed disruptor grenades into each room and hallway they passed. The mission was unfolding exactly as planned, three commandos closing in on the madman, two stationed along the escape route, two more protecting the entrance, and as per Lick's order, Banana in the rear.

Lick was first through the flap into Hussein's private quarters, holding a weapon in each hand.

"Take that you Camel Faced Sand Eater!" Lick screamed as he disintegrated an elite Baath Guard who was starting to draw a bead on one of his commandos.

Peppermint and Grape both tossed disruptor grenades toward the corners of the Evil One's lair. Peppermint stayed at the entrance, where he was able to keep visual contact with Cherry, and Orange as well as monitor the capture of the Demented Madman of Iraq. Grape flanked Lick and side by side, they advanced toward the mosquito netted bed where a hung-over Hussein lay, groggy from a night of drinking and perverse ritualistic orgies. Near the center of the room, an Iraqi guard struggled against the disruptor fields to draw his weapon. Lick dispatched him with a suitably gory left-handed head shot from his 45, without breaking stride.

Grape threw aside the netting, and Lick thrust his 45 in Hussein's ear.

"Let's go, you scarab brained date eater!" screamed Lick, yanking Hussein to his feet. Grape grabbed the arm opposite Lick and they began to frog-march the Evil One towards the exit. Peppermint, seeing that the capture had occurred, signaled Cherry and Orange, and then turned to toss three disruptor grenades to cover their retreat.

Lick, Grape, and the captured Iraqi scumbag leader burst from the private quarters and headed for the main exit. Hussein's private guards, who were the most competent to be found in the Middle East, mounted a last ditch attempt to stop the kidnapping. But they were no match for the weapons of the Gumdrop Gang, or Lick's shrewd leadership. Concussion and disruptor grenades flew like a swarm of sand fleas toward the pitiful horde of Iraqi soldiers trying to stop the abduction of their Mad Leader. The intensity of the disruptor fields, overlapping, and reinforcing one another knocked the Camel Meister unconscious, and began to leak through the mesh hoods that the commandos wore. Peppermint came up behind Lick and Grape and helped them drag their insensible captive out of the HQ tent.

Spearmint and Wintergreen replaced the groggy pair of Lick and Grape at the arms of the Demented Weasel of the Oilfields. The two groups split up and returned to their respective Stealth Jeep. Lick spoke thick-tongued into the Inter-Jeep communicator and both Jeeps silently slid off into the sunrise. An hour and a half later, and Air Force VTOL transport craft rose from the sweltering desert, with the Beast of the Mideast safely shackled in her belly.

The trial and pending execution of Saddam Hussein became the largest media circus of all time. Both individually and as a group, the Gumdrop Gang were toasted, awarded, and rewarded. The largest and most impressive ceremony was held at the White House. Televised across the globe, 65 world leaders were present to assist in giving recognition to the Gumdrop Gang for single-handedly bringing peace to the Middle Ease, and reducing tensions worldwide. As commander of the Gumdrop Gang, Lick was last to receive his awards. In recognition of his leadership and bravery, he was awarded both the Medal of Valor and the Distinguished Service Cross.

In suburban Detroit, a mother's pride swelled as her son, Craig "Lick" Smith received the highest honors the United States of America can give a citizen. A tear of motherly joy rolled down her cheek, and as she momentarily turned away from the TV to grab a tissue, she missed seeing live what nearly every person on Earth saw, for when Craig saluted the President after the medals were pinned to his chest, he lost his balance and accidentally pushed George Bush face-first into the punchbowl.

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Mondo Goes to the Prison Tailor

The most disgusting inmate in the universe gets new clothes

Mondo sat on his bunk with a copy of Nature magazine, tearing out all the pictures of cute little furry animals. As was his practice, Mondo intended to sort the pictures into the order in which he would horribly deface them. Unfortunately for Mondo, but fortunately for the pictures, Mondo was interrupted while segregating them into easily disfigured piles.

“Hey Dweeb,” called a guard, “Did you drop a tab to the Prison Tailor for new clothes?”

It took Mondo a moment to understand the question, and he reached down absentmindedly to scratch an itch. Comprehension of the question spread across his swine like face as his fingers found that the entire seat had been blasted out of the trousers he was wearing.

“Uh, yeah,” grunted Mondo. The guard then instructed Mondo to bundle up all the clothes he needed replaced, and to put them into the plastic bag he handed him. When the midday count cleared, he was to report to the rear entrance of the prison tailor shop.

When Mondo arrived at the rear entrance of the prison tailor shop, he found an entire decontamination team waiting for him. Two members of the Decon team wearing full protection suits rushed forward and grabbed the bulging plastic bag from Mondo. They quickly doused the bag with an industrial strength disinfectant/defoliant and sprinted with the bag towards a trash compactor. Meanwhile, the remaining members of the team quickly began spraying Mondo with a delousing agent. The speed with which this was accomplished stunned Mondo. He finally regained what little senses he possessed when the Decon team started to rinse him off with a hose. However, by this time, Mondo had already formulated an opinion as to why this unprecedented action was taking place.

“How very respectful,” thought Mondo as the team swarmed around him, “These people are trying to make sure that I am sanitary so that I don’t catch any diseases from used clothing.”

Mondo decided that he would assist them, so he started toward the drum of sanitizer/deodorizer he saw. As members of the Decon team scurried out of his way, Mondo was nearly awed at the respect for his personal space that the team showed him.

Prying the lid off the drum, Mondo reached in and began to splash the contents of the drum liberally over his body. The fresh, clean wintergreen scent of the sanitizer caused Mondo to drool even heavier than normal. He stooped over, and was about to take a taste of the aromatic liquid when a horrendous shriek stopped him cold. Turning to see who screamed, Mondo’s attention was diverted long enough for two members of the Decon team to make a heroic dash for the drum, and move the poisonous substance out of his reach.

A courageous, and also utterly stupid tailor shop worker closed in upon the newly freshened Mondo. In his brave hands were 15 tape measures, which had been hurriedly fastened together, and a clipboard on which to write Mondo’s gargantuan measurements. The heroic fool began to measure Mondo as quickly as he could, and when he finally finished, he staggered back to the tailor shop with a long list of very large numbers. The tailor took the sizing information, spent a few long moments with a calculator to add up the string of numbers, which represented Mondo’s immense girth, and sighed heavily.

Luckily, the tailor shop already had two pairs of trousers, each one painstakingly constructed from enough fabric to cover an average family, in stock. So the tailor began the laborious task of fabricating two gargantuan shirts. Seven spools of thread and four jumbo rolls of fabric later, Mondo was the proud owner of two new sets of clothing. Elsewhere in the world, a small village went naked.

Back in his cell, Mondo fondled his fresh new clothing, momentarily forgetting the animal pictures sitting on his bunk. Enamored by his new duds, Mondo decided to try on a set. After he had changed, Mondo began the time-consuming task of setting up an array of 24 mirrors in which he could catch a partial glimpse of himself. Once the mirrors were properly set up, Mondo preened in them for a short period of time. Out of the corner of his eye Mondo spied the stacks of animal pictures, and he turned away from the mirrors, grabbed the pictures and eagerly shuffled through them, drooling heavily once again as he anticipated an orgy of photo mutilation. Glancing at the clock, Mondo saw that it was nearly time for chow, so he stashed the pictures in his locker, and went out to the gallery to wait for the chow call.

Walking to chow, Mondo began to strut proudly as he noticed many persons stealing glances at him, with some inmates outright staring at him. Little did he realize that they were shocked nearly numb because the normal swarm of flies and reeking stench which accompanied Mondo wherever he went were conspicuously absent. Mondo, of course, thought that it was due to his new clothes. He naively believed that the new clothes were responsible for his fellow inmates giving him even more respect than he was accustomed to. Mondo went through his usual chow routine, getting double portions of anything he could, and grabbing discards from the trays of other inmates who were making their way to the exit. Alone, as was customary, Mondo filled his table with empty trays and food scraps. The smacking and gobbling sounds, which were also a trademark of Mondo, were even more pronounced this day. Presently he finished all the food he could hoard, and reached up towards the fly strip. Glancing around, he deftly removed it from the ceiling, and stuffed it between two slices of bead. Mondo contemplated downing the sandwich in on gigantic gulp, but thought better of it and placed it in his pocket, saving it as a snack for later.

Back in his cell, Mondo, still hungry, opened a number of cans. He poured as many as he could into his hot pot, and while the beans in the pot were heating, he nibbled on a cold can that wouldn’t fit in the pot. When he finished the cold can, the beans in the hot pot were warm so he downed them, along with his fly strip sandwich. Turning his attention to the pictures of small cute furry animals, Mondo began arranging and re-arranging them into what he considered to be the optimal order. Suddenly, he regretted eating the six cans of beans. Resigned to the fact that he could never make it to the bathroom in time, Mondo relaxed and blew the seat out of his brand new trousers.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Mondo Goes on a Furlough

"Warden Jackson," Karl Rove intoned ominously, "I don't think that you understand, I'm not asking you if giving Mondo a furlough is a good idea, I'm telling you that Mondo is going on a furlough."

"With all due respect Mr. Rove," Warden Jackson replied, "It is you who doesn't understand. Mondo is a serving a long sentence for various sundry crimes against God, Man, and Nature - especially Nature. He has no personal hygiene habits - you can smell him from a block away, no self respect, he eats fly strips for crying out loud, with live flies still on the strip! In addition, he is addicted to pornography, which thanks to court decisions he is permitted to have. The man is a menace to society, and you want me to release him for a weekend? On second thought, you are right, I don't understand. I don't understand why you would want a man like that out on the streets!"

"I need him for political purposes Warden. I understand that he thinks Cindy Sheehan is his Mother" Rove replied.

"Yes," Warden Jackson stated, "Mondo saw her on the evening news and is absolutely convinced that she is his Mother. But we know that this is not true, his Mother is alive and lives about 30 miles from here, she even visits on occasion. But she does bear a striking resemblance to Mrs. Sheehan."

"And it is that resemblance that I am counting on," said Rove. "Now, have your guards go get Mondo, clean him up a bit, give him some street clothes, and release him to my custody. I have all the appropriate paper work right here," concluded Rove as he took a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and handed them across the desk to the warden.

Warden Jackson carefully pored over the paperwork presented by Karl Rove and could find nothing to object to, everything was in order, and she resigned herself to releasing Mondo for the weekend. She picked up the phone and reluctantly gave the orders to have Mondo brought to the front gate in street clothes. Then she contacted the guard on duty in Mondo's cellblock and asked him to retrieve certain items of Mondo's personal property and bring them to her. Her next call went to the prison commissary.

"Mondo will be ready for you in about 10 minutes Mr. Rove," Warden Jackson informed him, "and I have made arrangements to supply you with some items that may protect the public if he gets out of control," she continued. "His cellblock guard is bringing some copies of Nature magazine which has many pictures of small furry animals, and the commissary is bringing over a dozen boxes of Little Debbie snack cakes. You can use these items to entice and lure him into doing what you want. But I must caution you, if you use the Little Debbies, it must be with an entire box, just one snack cake will not suffice."

"Thank you very much for your cooperation Warden," said Karl Rove, "your government appreciates your assistance, and I personally thank you for going above and beyond and giving me the magazines and snack cakes."

Karl Rove left the warden's office and proceeded to the front gate to await Mondo's appearance. He stood chatting with several Secret Service agents while waiting for Mondo, and presently they all detected a foul odor in the air. Just as one of the agents was about to remark on the odor, Mondo came through the sally port into the lobby, flanked by two guards. One guard told Mondo that he was going to go out on a field trip and directed him to the Secret Service agents telling him that they were his guides, while the other gave Karl Rove a large duffel bag containing the magazines and Little Debbie snack cakes. The guards wished them luck, and the main gate opened for them to leave.

The Secret Service agents quickly hustled Mondo out to a waiting van, and Karl Rove followed the van to the nearest airport in a waiting limo. Once at the airport, it was only a matter of minutes before the waiting cargo plane took off and headed towards Texas. In the air, the Secret Service agents tried to keep Mondo calm by offering him food and drinks. Mondo accepted and noisily devoured everything offered to him.

Presently, Mondo announced that he needed to use the rest room, and unbuckled both of the seat belts needed to encircle his immense girth. As Mondo waddled towards the restroom, the large plane shook and swayed in the air as the pilot struggled to keep control of the plane. Mondo somehow managed to wedge himself into the facilities, and to his dismay found that if he closed the door, he couldn't turn around or manage to locate his trouser decouplers, so he left the door open and proceeded to do his business, thereby irretrievably soiling the entire rest room from floor to ceiling. Mondo exited the lavatory and waddled back to his seat, leaving the door open. His normal foul odor, accompanied by the stench of his misadventures in the rest room was more than the Secret Service agents could bear, and one of them bravely went to close the rest room door. When he saw the condition of the facilities, projectile vomit spewed from his mouth into the lavatory. When he finished, he managed to close the door, hoping that the smell wouldn't be too bad for the rest of the trip.

Luckily, just at that moment, the pilot's voice came over the intercom instructing everyone to fasten their seatbelts for landing. The landing was largely unexceptional, if not a bit abrupt, but the plane containing Mondo was on the ground in Texas.

"Mondo, we have a surprise for you," one of the Secret Service agents told him, "We're going to a special picnic, and your Mother is going to be there."

This excited Mondo, because he hadn't seen his Mother in several months, and he obediently followed all instructions given to him on the van trip to the picnic site.

Meanwhile, at Cindy Sheehan's campsite just down the road from President Bush's ranch, a small caravan of catering trucks, secretly arranged for by Karl Rove, arrived and her group was told that local restaurants donated food and drink to her cause, and that they were going to have a nice barbecue picnic. Her media advisors thought that this was great publicity, and invited all the media representatives covering her story to the picnic.

The foodservice workers quickly set up tables and chairs for food and eating in the field, and busily filled them with platters of barbecue ribs, baked beans, cole slaw, potato salad, and steamed broccoli. When they were finished, Cindy Sheehan's media advisors made sure that cameras were rolling as Cindy made a short thank you speech to the local restaurants. Just as she finished, the van containing Mondo rolled up, and the Secret Service agents pointed him to her table.

"Mommy!" Mondo shrieked as he ran towards Cindy Sheehan. Cindy froze in terror as Mondo approached, his foul stench preceding him by a wide margin. Mondo reached her and threw his arms around her, as video cameras whirred. "Let's eat," Mondo shouted, as he greedily tried to shove food into his face without benefit of utensils. The Secret Service agent following Mondo convinced him to sit down and use a plate, and whispered to Cindy that she should perhaps humor him and she wouldn't get hurt.

Since she was in shock, Cindy complied and sat next to Mondo as he stuffed his face with vast quantities of gas producing food. Presently, Mondo slowed down, and Cindy began to regain her composure. When Mondo let out the first of what was to be several magnificent farts, Cindy snapped out of it and began to edge away from Mondo. When Mondo realized that she was leaving, he leapt up, and screamed "No Mommy - don't leave me again!"

As Mondo lunged towards her trying to wrap his arms around her, Cindy, fully recovered from her shock, was repulsed and sickened by Mondo and his stench. She felt her stomach heave and let loose a stream of vomit that splashed Mondo and several reporters who were busily covering the spectacle. When Mondo reached her, she angrily struck out at him screeching at him to get away. At this moment, the Secret Service agent who had been restraining Cindy's media advisor let her go and she joined in the fracas striking at Mondo and screaming obscenities at him trying to pry Cindy loose from his grasp.

Shortly, one of the Secret Service agents caught Mondo's eye with a box of Little Debbies and one of his Nature magazines. Mondo released Cindy and moved towards the agent, who was backing up to the waiting van. As Mondo walked away, both Cindy Sheehan and her media advisor hurled epithets at Mondo, who was totally oblivious to them.

As Mondo was lured into the van, another Secret Service agent gave an interview to one of the reporters explaining that Mondo was a "special needs" person, who mistook Cindy for his Mother, and said that her actions towards disadvantaged persons was nothing short of reprehensible.

The media then descended upon Cindy and her media advisor demanding to know why she had treated Mondo so shabbily. The circus that then ensued was captured on film for posterity by all the major network and cable news outlets.

At 6:00 p.m., while Mondo was still in the air heading back to prison, the lead story on every newscast began with film of Cindy Sheehan and her media advisor abusing Mondo both verbally and physically. Their explanations were shallow and insincere to all who viewed them, and Cindy Sheehan was no longer the media darling she had been for an entire month. Her cause and her angry words towards the President were ridiculed and dismissed by the pundits, and her popular opinion ratings slid into the gutter.

Back at President Bush's ranch Karl Rove, George Bush, and the rest of his advisors watched the unfolding events with barely restrained glee.

Saturday, August 20, 2005

Mondo Goes to the Gym

The most disgusting inmate in the Universe gets some Rec

Mondo awoke drenched in a cold sweat, which was unusual; he usually awoke to a hot, steamy sweat. “This is different,” he finally realized, “Maybe I should try something new today instead of slothing around like an obese odious oaf like I usually do.” So after a long period of what passed for thought in his defective mind, Mondo decided to go to the gym and see what interested him there. This in itself was surprising since Mondo’s interests lie almost exclusively in the realm of food, pornography, and cute small furry animals.

Before going to the gym, Mondo decided that a shower might be a good idea, since his clothes needed washing anyway. To the great dismay of his cellmate, and virtually every other inmate on the block, Mondo noisily rooted around for some soap. When he finished, he searched for some in his locker. Since Mondo had never once even looked at the toiletries side of the commissary sheet, it goes without saying that his search was fruitless, as well as soapless. “Oh well,” mumbled Mondo, “Soap is really not necessary for someone of my stature.” He grabbed his ghastly stained towel and trundled off to the shower room. The moment Mondo stepped in to the shower room, every inmate present sprinted out, regardless of whether they were finished showering or not. “It’s nice to be respected,” Mondo arrogantly thought, “A man of my repute commands homage wherever he goes.” Finding himself alone in the shower, Mondo proceeded to soil the entire shower room in a manner that defies description. Once Mondo had rinsed his clothes and spread the stains evenly over their entire surface, he removed them and wrung them out, further soiling the despoiled shower room tiles.

Fresh from his spur of the moment shower, Mondo eagerly waited for the hourly inmate movement to be called. When the movement was announced, Mondo rushed the door, looking all the time like some ponderous pre-historic beast, and slammed into the securely locked door face first. Mondo’s tremendous impact strained the security hinges on the door, but with sounds of groaning metal the door miraculously held. Mondo backed away with a whimper, leaving a large slimy stain on the door, not to mention a 3-inch dent. The guard who approached the door to open it was laughing hysterically, until he saw the 3-inch deep dent in the heavy gauge security steel. Fully sobered by this sight, he opened the door and breathed a sigh of relief when Mondo lumbered out the door and headed toward the gym.

The two guards working the Yard Gate were startled to feel the earth move under their feet. The tremors increased in frequency and power as Mondo approached. He flashed his ID card and turned left, heading for the gym. Mondo closed the gap between himself and the revolving door as the ground thundered under his feet. Upon reaching the revolving door, Mondo realized that he was too large to fit through the door. However, Mondo was nothing if not determined. Remembering his encounter with the cellblock door, he took three large steps back, and plodded towards the revolving door. Behind him, terrified voices sang a chorus of doom; they were helpless to stop him, and it looked like the gym was going to meet an ignominious end. The moment of impact was a sight to behold, as the massive bulk of Mondo met the securely anchored door. Miraculously, the door panel he impacted against first gave way and folded back flat against the adjacent panel, giving Mondo fully half the revolving door to fit through. Again, metal screeched and groaned, but this time Mondo got through.

The tumultuous noise along with Mondo’s peculiar offensive odor caused everyone in the gym to stop dead in their tracks and stare at the entrance. Seeing this, Mondo’s self-esteem was inflated all out of proportion. “Gee, I had no idea that I was so highly regarded by staff and inmates alike,” he though, “It looks like I’m not such a despised character after all.” Mondo waddled towards largest knot of people he saw, anxious to make new friends, or to be more accurate, any friend. The group moved as one, in a direction that can best be described as opposite to Mondo’s, if one is charitable enough to discount those members of the group who tried to leap through the walls of the gym to escape him. “I enjoy the respect and homage, but it is sometimes tedious when I cannot get close enough to hold a conversation with another person,” Mondo thundered aloud. Again, all movement in the gym halted, and staff and inmate alike stood trembling.

Mondo stood sweating after his uncharacteristic spree of physical activity and exceptionally intelligible verbal outburst. Reeling from the shock of too many unaccustomed occurrences, it appeared that Mondo was going to fall, irretrievably soiling, and disfiguring the floor. A guard gently suggested to Mondo that perhaps he should go over to the large circular wash basin and splash some water on his face. “My, how gently and reverently he speaks to me,” thought Mondo, “I’ll humor him and go over and splash some water on my face. That should put his mind at ease.” Aloud, Mondo managed to utter his typical unintelligible grunt and waddled over to the basin. Mondo stepped on the bar and the water cascaded out of the spouts in a circular fountain-like manner. This mesmerized Mondo’s simple mind, and he stood for many moments, almost transfixed by the sparkling display. Finally realizing why he was there, Mondo leaned forward cupping his hands and reached toward the stream of water.

A small movement caught Mondo’s eye just before the water reached his hands, and his beady eyes sought out and locked on to a fly, which was buzzing around his body. Carefully timing his movement, his right hand shot out and attempted to snatch the fly from mid-air. Unfortunately, Mondo’s coordination was on a par with his intelligence, personality, and appearance; that is, decidedly substandard. Mondo’s ill-fated attempt to snatch the fly resulted in the fly being batted through the air and bounding off the side of the basin and into the water sliding down the drain. Seeing this, Mondo lunged for the fly, while his mind shrieked “SNACK!!”

Mondo’s lunge unbalanced him, and he tumbled forward into the basin. Mondo was much too large to actually fit inside the basin, but the combination of his immense weight and his greasy, oily body managed to wedge him firmly into the wash basin. Happily for Mondo though, he caught the fly and greedily devoured it. Unhappily for Mondo, he could not get out of the basin. Seeing the predicament Mondo was in, a quick thinking guard called for help. Mondo began to panic, and started thrashing wildly about. Each violent convulsion brought sounds of groaning metal and the unmistakable sounds of plumbing being ripped from concrete. Eventually, Mondo tired and his wild thrashings subsided. Presently, 17 guards arrived to remove Mondo from the basin, each one dressed in a full-body decontamination suit.

The guards warily approached the basin. Slowly they gathered in a silent semi-circle around the supine Mondo, who was still firmly ensconced in the wash basin. Almost in unison, the guards heaved and heaved and heaved. When they finished, they grabbed Mondo and managed to pull him out of the wash basin. Mondo sat dazedly on the floor, and tried to recover his composure. Finally, Mondo raised his right hand to his left nostril, causing all persons in his vicinity to flee in terror. Everything was back to normal.

Later, back in his cell, a warm familiar green haze surrounding Mondo and his environs, Mondo reflected back upon the most exciting day during his entire incarceration. A warm smile slowly spread across his piggish face as he relaxed and drifted off to sleep, bubbling away merrily.